


contort

by prettyhearse



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Freeverse, Gen, Other, Poetry, Pre-Canon, canon divergent (probably)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5879575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyhearse/pseuds/prettyhearse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She contorts your body, your soul, your everything, because you, you are nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	contort

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written anything but slam poetry since i was 12 and i can't stop projecting my trauma on fictional characters so this poem-fic-thing happened. depending on how you interpret this, i will just warn for possible nsfw content and dub con, but it's all subjective i guess. from the pov of yellow pearl. pre canon, theorising, messy, i hope you enjoy.
> 
> read it in russian here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/4065628 thanks to InfernoMole for translating!

you emerge

elegantly, daintily, contorted

into a perfect arabesque, thin, slender leg raised, your feet perfectly pointed. droplets of water cling to your pale, perfect skin and you shimmer and glisten under the floodlights, as though you have been dusted with the lustre of your lesser fallen sisters. 

you are a rare occurrence from the moment you are formed, a “natural” born slave, already at a level a regular pearl would have to train for months to get to.

prodigy.

perfect.

you’re perfect.

“she’s perfect,” She says, Her eyes eating you up, like the packaged raw meat you are.

“she’s perfect,” they, too, say as they snatch you from the cold comfort of your mollusk you’d spent the last few years perfecting yourself in, and you’re dragged away, to be perfected more. you already have the gift of unquestioning obedience and a desire to please and to serve, no rewiring required, they did that before you were even fully formed, 

but in Her eyes you aren’t perfect yet, you

are made to order. 

made to be customized and changed to the liking of your Owner and She’s a picky one, they say as they tell you to modify your appearance to fit the one on the screen, the one She designed Herself .

you emerged

from the mollusk naked, your pale form bare, and after modifying your appearance to fit the liking of your new Owner you don’t feel much different because the malliot barely covers you

the leg cut-outs stop at your waist, your chest is just barely hidden, your perfect sparkling skin is on display for all the world to see but you swallow and smile and simper for all you’re worth 

because you accepted before birth that the right to dignity is not yours, 

you’re a pearl, made to please and to serve,

to be shown off like the prized pet you are.

so you curtsy before Her and She smiles down at you, stepping back to take in the view of your exposed chest and hips and thighs, your long legs only spared by organza stockings and pointe shoes that complement the dainty arches of your feet perfectly.

“She will be your teacher,” they say, because the bare basics have already been wired into your brain before you were even a conscious life form, She needs to train you to Her liking, because She is your Owner and you are the pet, the servant, the slave, it’s been repeating in your head since the second 

you emerged.

so you leave with Her, following along behind Her, carrying Her things like it was always meant to be.

She shows you Her home and fills you with everything you need to know, where things go, where to clean, when to clean, Her schedule for this entire revolution alone and you learn it all in the space of a few hours, filling your mind with it all and making sure it stays there because you can’t please Her and you can’t serve Her otherwise and every layer of nacre that you formed has all been for this. 

so you don’t protest when Her lessons continue and She contorts you

into Her favourite pretty positions, She twists you

into a  quatrième devant beneath Her, She holds you, 

Her palm like the sea as it closes around you, She touches you

fingers like hail and

in Her palm you stay, obedient, for there you belong and you were made to belong to Her.

you want to belong to Her?

you want to belong to Her.

you want to belong to Her, for She is everything, the voice in your mind repeats, you are nothing, even with Her, you

are nothing.

your love for Her grows and Her “love” for you seems to grow too, but Her “love” is a more thorny flower that pricks you and twists vines around your limbs, contorting you

to fit Her wants, Her  _ needs _ ,  and sometimes it aches but you do not scream, because you,

you want Her to,

because you want what She wants and She wants what you’re labelled as, 

a perfect, obedient, quiet slave, who lives to please Her and to serve Her, a slave willing to die for Her, it’s a mantra you’ve been hearing since the day you came in existence and you know nothing else, the thought of protest or denial is as alien as the planets your Diamond rules over, so you will let Her vines do with you as they please.

for that is what a pearl is made for, no matter how much the others deny it.

they circle around you as you all wait for your Masters behind the courtroom door,

“she’s new”

“she belongs to a Diamond, i heard”

“my, i think i know what kind of pearl  _ she  _ is, just look at her outfit”

they titter and stare 

disapprovingly at your exposed skin, though they too display bare legs, midriffs, it’s almost uniform for their pants to end at their hips,

“it’s like she’s proud of what she does,” one says, nudging her friend,

“ _ my   _ Topaz would  _ never _ -”

“and  _ my _   Emerald hasn’t  _ ever _ -”

they titter and stare

down at you like you’re the lowest of the low, and you wonder if it’s true,

but soon you realise it’s just a game,

they treat each newcomer the same and you soon learn to join in on the chorus and sing from the same songbook of lies,

“ _ my _   Diamond would  _ never _ ”

you titter and stare

disapprovingly with the others at the new pearl with her eyes hidden by an overgrown curtain of hair so none of you get the satisfaction of seeing her flinch at the comments about her revealing skirt or low neckline,

she stands in the corner, head bowed, silent, ignoring the others as they taunt her, only answering them when they ask who she serves

“Blue Diamond,” she says proudly, but you know that being a slave to a Diamond doesn’t save you from the torment, everyone knows what the Diamonds do with their pearls no matter how much you deny it,

even after you laugh at the new pearl with them you still feel their disapproving eyes on you as your walk away with Her after the meeting, you hear their faint laughter and tittering and you wonder if it’s still about you but it doesn’t matter what their stares are like

Hers is approving and that’s all that matters and you bask in the approval as She contorts you

into an effacé before Her, Her hands seem to swallow you whole and you let Her,

like you always do, silently, obediently, you’ve learned when it’s appropriate to please Her with your gasps and gentle sighs, though Hers compliment your dance better, as you contort

yourself

before Her, and She basks in the view, in the pleasure, and when it’s all over you bask in the praise and curtsy as though you are bowing,

bowing before the puppeteer, bravo to you, a great performance indeed,

but Her thorny vines tighten around your limbs again, as though She can sense when your mind wanders to ideas that should be alien to a slave like you,

and you,

you let Her no matter how much Her grasp makes your limbs ache or how it bruises your pale skin because it’s marking you as Hers and how wonderful it feels to be Hers and belong, 

you let Her feast on your body, on your soul, like the packaged raw meat you are,

She ravishes you and your head swims, like it always does, and Her whispers seep in more easily

“you are Mine you belong to Me I own you I am your Master” but you’re barely able to hear it as your mind goes static and your body tenses, and shudders and shudders 

and shudders 

until you go limp in Her hand, arms falling into a perfect  bras en couronne,

“my pearl,” She says, closing Her palm loosely around you, Her half-lidded eyes feeding on your trembling body visible through the cracks between Her fingers.

“my Diamond,” you whisper, looking away, “thank you”

and She sets you down, watching in amusement as your legs buckle as you try to walk,

“I have some files I need you to sort through, the folder is in My control room,” She says, “you are dismissed.”  She waves you off and you leave, 

like you always do, feeling the same way you always do after She contorts you

with her vines and ravishes you,

you ache. 


End file.
